Fashioned Feast
by wackyjacqs
Summary: Sam bit back a grin as she recalled the official title for the evening's feast; Féile Fir Fiáin. Yes, she would enjoy herself this evening. Set anytime during Season 7, purely because I love the team's chemistry. Oneshot.


**A/N: Another bizarre holiday for you all! I wrote this oneshot last week (12 January), but I've been having issues trying to log in, so wasn't able to share on the actual day. Sorry! ****Anyway, this holiday seemed too good to pass up, so better late than never I guess. Oh, and the bizarre holiday for this little fic is revealed in an author's note at the end. ;) **

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><p><strong>Fashioned Feast<strong>

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><p>"Stop laughing, Sam. It's not funny!" Daniel moaned as he stood in front of his teammate.<p>

Unfortunately, she continued to laugh and the archeologist sighed before placing his hands on his hips – a stance which only served to make Sam laugh more. Realizing what he looked like, Daniel quickly let his hands fall by his sides.

"I'm… so… sorry, Daniel," she spluttered.

"It's fine," he replied, then frowned. 'Well, it's not _fine_, but it's…"

He trailed off with a shrug, making Sam sober slightly.

"If it's any consolation," she supplied, "You look very…" She waved her arm around in a vague gesture, as she tried to find the right word, "…_in character._"

Seemingly failing in her quest, she watched Daniel move to the other side of the tent SG-1 had been delegated for the duration of their stay. The team had arrived on PXV-726 two days previously and had received a warm welcome from the locals. Having been involved in trade negotiations since their arrival, tonight marked the conclusion of the initial talks. Basically, it involved the locals throwing a large feast in the team's honor. Well, some of the team anyway.

Sam held back another laugh.

She was actually looking forward to the evening's celebration. For once, the inhabitants hadn't taken a particular interest in her. Rather, it was the male members of the team who had been put on a pedestal. So the meal – or _féile_ – as the locals referred to it, was for them. It also meant that while the Major was able to continue wearing her BDUs, the men had to wear local clothing appropriate to the occasion.

She bit back a grin as she recalled the official title for the evening's feast.

_Féile Fir Fiáin._

_The Feast of Fabulous Wild Men._

Just as Sam was about to start laughing again, she saw Daniel reluctantly place the hat he had been given to wear on his head. He looked just like Indiana Jones – shirtless, but complete with a leather whip.

A snort of amusement from the Major quickly turned into a cough.

"Don't even –" Daniel warned, and Sam threw her arms up in surrender.

She was stopped from saying anything else when a dark shadow fell over the two of them. Looking up, Sam smiled before swallowing hard when she saw the expression on Teal'c's face. She already knew it was because the Jaffa was also unhappy with his chosen 'outfit', but Sam had only seen that expression on her friend's face a couple of times before – and she was suddenly worried about how the night would actually end.

Trying not to stare at the leather pant and waistcoat ensemble Teal'c was wearing, Sam forced a smile. She then noticed the long leather coat completing the outfit and vaguely thought he looked like Shaft. She knew better than to actually say the words out loud, however.

"Teal'c! You look, uh... ah... you look... good?"

Met with silence, she cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Umm, where's the Colonel?"

"The Colonel is right here," came the low, dangerous voice from behind the tent's inner partition.

Sam closed her eyes and winced. _Oh boy._

Daniel also seemed to pick up on the tone and he turned on his heel. "Uh, I'm going to wait outside. Teal'c?"

"Indeed, Daniel Jackson," he replied with a bow.

Eyes widening in disbelief, Sam watched her two teammates disappear out of the tent, leaving her alone with her Commanding Officer.

"Oh for cryin' out loud!"

Slowly, Sam turned to the source of the frustrated cry. The Colonel was still behind the partition.

"Sir?"

"_What?!_" came the snapped response.

"Uh… Are you okay?"

"Just peachy, Carter."

Pursing her lips, she debated whether to continue the conversation, when she heard him sigh.

"Carter?"

Sam hesitated at the unease she could hear in his voice. "Yes, Sir?"

"I need a hand here."

Her frown deepened. "Uh... a hand _where_, exactly? Sir."

"With my… outfit."

Pulling a face, Sam could feel her cheeks reddening as she spoke. "Do you need me to come back there, Sir?"

A heavy silence fell between the two officers before another sigh came from behind the curtain.

"No… I'm coming out. But I swear to god, Carter, if you so much as smirk…"

He left the sentence unfinished, but Sam heard the warning. "Yes, Sir."

Moments later, he emerged from behind the curtain – and anything Sam had planned to say was promptly forgotten as she took in the sight before her. The Colonel was wearing a short brown leather-pleated kilt, similar to those worn by Roman soldiers… and not much else. Unless you counted whatever it was he was holding in his left hand.

"Sir!" she squeaked, before trying again. "You, ah…"

"Save it, Carter," he grumbled and Sam snapped her mouth closed. "Can you help with this," he added, holding up a leather strap.

She stepped closer and took it from him, then frowned. "Uh, what is it, Sir?"

A shrug was her answer and she tried not to roll her eyes.

"It's supposed to clip onto this thing," he said, gesturing towards the kilt, "and joins onto this… or something," he explained as he held up an ornately decorated collar with leather shoulder pads in his other hand.

"Ah."

"Yeah."

Sam cleared her throat uncomfortably. Taking the strap, she quickly found the loop on the band of the kilt and clipped it, but as she did so, her fingers brushed against the Colonel's lower stomach. He inhaled sharply and Sam's eyes flew to his.

"Sorry, Sir," she whispered, receiving a slight nod in return.

Next, Sam took the collar and placed it over her CO's head, then hooked the shoulder pads around it, all the time trying to ignore how the Colonel's eyes were focusing on her face.

"I look ridiculous."

The comment made Sam falter slightly. "No, you don't, Sir."

Even as the words left her lips, she grimaced, and the Colonel's look only served to prove that it was a stupid comment.

"Well, I mean… it's not your… usual attire, but… it could be worse."

"How's that?"

"Have you seen Daniel's outfit?"

Jack smirked and observed Sam closely as she reached around him to hook the strap around his shoulder.

"I'm getting a draft in this thing," he commented after a few moments, eliciting a laugh from the woman opposite.

"Don't worry, Sir. I'll make sure you're not wearing it for long."

Catching the Colonel's shocked, then suspiciously smug expression, Sam bit back a groan – especially at his next words.

"Can't wait to have your wicked way with me, eh Carter?"

Feeling herself blush, Sam stammered. "Uh, I just meant... The feast... It's only for a few hours. Sir."

Trying – and failing miserably – to hide his amusement, Jack decided to put her out of her misery. "Yeah, about that," he said, "What is this 'fairy' thing, they keep talking about?"

"_Féile_, Sir," she automatically corrected. "It's just a feast."

"Just a feast? So... no sacrificial offerings in the form of an Air Force Colonel that I need to worry about?"

This time, Sam couldn't hide her chuckle. "No, Sir. You're safe."

The Colonel nodded, his gaze darting back and forth, trying to focus on anything but the woman now standing just inches from him, and how it was really starting to affect certain parts of his anatomy.

"I hate this stuff."

"Hmm?" Sam answered idly as she worked to fasten and buckle the remainder of the Colonel's outfit.

"_This_," he repeated, gesturing to his clothes.

Sam glanced up and could swear he was pouting. She suddenly had a flashback to one of the team's very first missions and she grinned.

"Oh, I don't know, Sir…"

With renewed focus, she fastened the final buckle then ran her hands along the shoulder pads, smoothing out any invisible creases in the leather. Without stepping back, she met the Colonel's gaze.

"…It kind of works for me."

"_Carter_ –"

"Uh... Jack? Sam? Is it safe to come in?"

The two officers shared a look and put a little distance between them.

"Yeah, Daniel."

The archeologist's head emerged between a gap in the tent opening. "They're waiting for us. The féile is about to begin."

"Oy," Jack groaned when Daniel disappeared back outside. "Let's get this over with," he mumbled as he tugged at his kilt.

"After you, Sir," Sam gestured, giving him a sympathetic smile.

She hung back as the Colonel slowly made his way to their awaiting teammates. Casting a glimpse downwards, Sam took in her Commanding Officer's broad shoulders and how the muscles on his back flexed and rippled as he walked. Her gaze fell lower, to the kilt, which just about covered his six.

She couldn't help but grin. She was going to enjoy tonight's celebrations.

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><p><strong>AN: That's right, there is actually a bizarre holiday known as the 'Feast of Fabulous Wild Men Day', on 12 January. Hilarious!**

**Also, in Irish, 'féile' means 'festival', 'fir' means 'men' and 'fiáin' means 'wild'.**


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